Some Nights
by morning.crescent
Summary: Some nights, Karkat cries. Dave is a good bro. Set some time after Read You Like A Book.


Some nights, Karkat cries.

It isn't often, but every now and then he's hit with a sense of failure and loss. It's a feeling you know all too well; your Bro, once the most important person in your life, is dead. You've mostly come to terms with this. It's the way things had to happen. You would know; you checked and re-checked every possible timeline. It couldn't be helped.

There are still times when you feel that overwhelming loss, though, and there are times when those feelings become too much for you and you cry it out. Karkat has never been there for those times, and that's the way you prefer it.

But tonight is his, another night he's probably spent waffling over whether or not to pay a visit to your room. By the looks of things, he's made up his mind. He shuffles to your open door and knocks weakly. You look up from your laptop to see his form, bundled in a fluffy blanket, expression the most pitiful you've ever seen: eyes downcast and forlorn, mouth hard set so as not to lose control.

You set your computer aside and pat the spot on your bed next to you. He makes his way over slowly, gingerly, as though moving too fast would throw his world off-kilter. He finally settles on the mattress, still looking down, blanket wrapped around him.

"C'mere," you say as you bring one arm around him. He nestles against you, and you can hear a breath hitch in his throat. Finally, he looks up at you; you're not wearing your shades, so you can easily make out all the details of his face. His eyes are wide and shining, and you can see the pinkish tears collecting on his lower lashes.

"Dave," he whispers, his voice shaking, and then he buries his face against your arm. You respond by stroking your hand up and down his back.

"Shh, I know, dude."

"They're—" he chokes out, "they're all. Gone."

"I know, man, I know."

It's at this point that his breathing starts to shudder, and tears begin to dampen your sleeve. His sobs are quiet, restrained, never loud or dramatic.

There's really nothing to say in these situations. All you can do is let Karkat know that you're there for him, hold him close, give him what comfort you can. You pull him closer and he brings an arm up to rest against your chest.

"I fucked up," he whimpers, voice breaking, but he unburies his face and gazes at you through eyelashes glinting with wetness. The tears are flowing now, just tiny streams of pink slipping down his cheeks, and he bites his lip to keep it from quivering.

"It's okay. Shh." You press a kiss to the top of his head. "It's okay." When he's like this… it just makes your heart ache. It physically pains you, and it's all you can do to hold him tight and rock him in your arms.

His body starts to shake with pitiful little noises that make your gut twist. You care so much about this little guy; he's one of your best bros. John is, too, but he doesn't need you the way Karkat does.

"…'m sorry," he mumbles against your chest. "I'm pathetic," and you're reminded just how much he trusts you, how much it means for him to open up with you like this.

"Don't say that," you implore, pulling him into your lap. "You're great." This gets a small purr out of him; you know he doesn't believe you, but it always makes him feel better when you say affectionate things like that. He sniffs thickly, then nuzzles against your neck. He's in no mood to protest tonight.

You expect this night to end like most; Karkat drifting off in your arms, you tucking him into your bed and holding him until you fall asleep with him.

Which is why you're surprised when you feel him press a tentative kiss to your neck, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. You've done things with Karkat before, but it's always just been two bros messing around. You've always kept those shenanigans separate from these more emotionally vulnerable moments, but now it seems he wants to cross the streams.

Well, if that's the sort of comforting he needs right now, you're more than willing to provide it for him. You lean down until you can brush your lips against his, and he tightens his grip on your shoulders.

It's ridiculous how much of an effect kissing him has on you. Just feeling him against you like this makes you feel weak all over, warmth pooling in your abdomen and heart full to bursting with affection. It's just so fucking stupid how much you care about him.

He presses into you harder, entire body flush against yours. He moves his lips desperately against yours and pulls you into a reclining position until the two of you are on your sides, face-to-face.

You stay like that for a while, combing one hand through his (surprisingly) soft hair and rubbing the other up and down his back. He nuzzles into your neck and plants more soft kisses on the skin, a purr-like sound emanating from his chest.

Suddenly Karkat rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of him, sliding his hands under your shirt and around your waist; you shudder a bit at the skin-on-skin contact and a surprised breath escapes your lungs. He drags you closer and your hips meet and fuck—

Yeah, this is going a lot further than usual.

You check his face for confirmation, and god do you receive it. His eyes are centered on you, pleading, slipping in and out of focus; he's chewing on his lower lip, and a deep flush covers his cheeks.

"Dave," he says softly, almost solemnly.

"Yeah," you manage. "Yeah, I'm here."

And then his hands are gripping your waist and he rolls his hips up against yours and you both moan. You lean down to kiss him, feeling his clothed bulge writhing against your growing erection.

"Oh, fuck… Karkat," you groan against his mouth, and he hums contentedly.

"Mm, shit, Dave– I need–" You cut him off by kissing him again, and he moans in frustration and pleasure. He twists his head away, panting. "T–towel. Get the–"

You quickly roll off of him to retrieve the towel you keep under your bed precisely for situations like this—the first time the two of you did it on your bed, you had to alchemize an entire new set of sheets.

(According to him, it's nowhere near as much as a fully-matured troll produces. You're not sure how to feel about that.)

Karkat raises his hips, allowing you to lay the towel beneath him, and then you're back on him in an instant. You grind down against him and his head falls back, a sound of absolute ecstasy escaping his throat. "Fuuuck! Dave, oh god…"

You'd never tell him, but he's beautiful like this: a blushing, writhing, whimpering mess beneath your touch. His hands are everywhere now, like he can't get enough of you—which, let's face it, he probably can't; you are Dave Strider, after all—and he's breathing your name over and over. You can hardly believe he's so far gone already, and it makes your stomach do this stupid fluttery thing and you just want him to feel good.

So you kiss him, and kiss him some more, kiss him everywhere. On his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his jaw, his neck, until he grabs you by the hair and pulls you back against his mouth, kissing you deeply and desperately and wow, okay, hair-pulling is apparently a thing you are into.

The kiss grows more heated and you are reminded of the tightness in your pants, so you fumble them off without breaking away, then set to work on Karkat's. As soon as you have them undone he's kicking them off and rutting himself back against you, grasping your face in his hands and muttering your name between the gasps and sighs and moans escaping his lips, and you don't think you've ever seen him so touchy-feely.

"Dave, please, just…"

"Yeah, Karkat, I'm here, it's okay, what do you need?"

"Just… o–oh god," and you can feel him coming undone underneath you, losing control as the tears start to return and he pulls you closer, like he needs to feel you as close as possible after everyone he's lost.

"It's okay, I got you, you're okay," you continue to whisper as you ease off his boxers along with yours. "Please don't cry, Karkles, it'll be weird if you're crying," and you brush a thumb under his left eye gently.

This gets a choked laugh and an eye-roll, but he swallows down the beginnings of tears and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Shut up, you douchebag." Ah, now there's the Karkitty you know and love.

Well, you mean… you love him like a bro. Because that's what he is. Your bro. With whom you occasionally participate in sexual activities. Like you're doing right now. Yeah. It's not weird, shut up.

You heave a sigh of combined relief and something else, then peck him quickly on the cheek before lining yourself up with his nook. "Good?" you ask, and he nods enthusiastically even as his bulge teases the tip of your dick, sending a shudder down your spine.

"Yeah, I. I'm good. Now hurry the fuck up already." You grin at that, wide and unabashed because god damn you just feel so fucking happy right now and you're not even sure why. Slowly, you press into him, breath hitching as you feel yourself being enveloped by his warmth.

"Oh fuck, oh god, okay, we're okay, we got this, we're doing this man—"

"Oh my fucking god would you shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds!" Even during sex he has to have a foul mouth.

You bury your head in his neck and laugh before pulling out halfway, then pushing back in gently.

"Jesus fuck, I'm not made of glass you dipshit," he gasps out, hooking his legs over your waist and pulling you in harder, making you both groan.

Soon enough you've found just the right pace and pressure and you know that if you aim just a little bit upwards you can make him scream, and you fucking love all the different noises you can get out of him. The two of you are panting and moaning into each other's mouths.

Karkat's name falls from your mouth between your pleased hums—fuck he feels awesome—and he has no right to look so god damn adorable in the throes of sex but there he is, bedroom eyes and perpetually sex-mussed hair and his cute little sticky-outy fangs which you think are too nubby to even be called fangs but he'd probably bite you if you told him that and hell you might actually like it and shit—

You kind of really fucking love this dork.

That thought alone is enough to send you over the edge, crying out his name as you release inside him, and you feel him flutter around you as he chokes on a particularly loud moan and then he's coming too and you're really fucking glad for that towel, good job past Dave, past Dave knows what's up.

As you both come down from your highs, shuddering and breathing against one another, you get that awful-happy fluttery feeling in your stomach again and you bury your face against his shoulder while he runs his fingers through your hair.

"Krkt," you say, voice muffled by his skin.

"Hmm."

You turn your head a bit to make sure you can be heard. "I love you," you sigh, and you're so far gone that you don't really process what you said until you feel him stiffen beneath you. Once you realize it, your head snaps up and you stare at him in horror only to be met with an expression that is equal parts blissed, confused, and affectionate.

"I mean, shit, I—"

"Me, too," you barely hear him grumble.

"What?"

"I… I guess I kind of. Love you, too. I guess."

And your heart swells at that, and suddenly you're so full of joy that you think you might burst, so you laugh. You smooch him right on the neck and laugh and say, "Shit, dude. I like. Really fucking love you."

When you look up to kiss him again, he just smiles and whispers, "Yeah."


End file.
